Ridge walk on the western flank of the Pfyffer. On the Wachthubel breathtaking view of the pre-Alpine bulwarks Schrattenflue and Hohgant. On the descent you come across black buffaloes. They have made Schangnau famous for its mozzarella.
Sounds interesting. Let's see if I get to see the famous buffalos. The last time it must have been in Asia.
And the effort today seems to be moderate:
Length 13 km; rise | descent 800 m | 600 m, hiking time 4 h 20 min
Well, as the experience shows, these values are all smoke and mirrors in my case. This is what they really look like:
Length 14.29 km; rise | descent 1025 m | 790 m, hiking time 6 h 04 min
The difference in duration can be explained by my being slow, but more than 200 meters more ascending and descending? I do not understand. After all, I'm not doing any extra climbs.
The world is full of mysteries.
The landlord recovered
I am almost surprised that at breakfast, which is contrary to expectations quite opulent, a gentleman indeed shows up, turning out to be the missing landlord. A more than strange character, seems somehow not yet properly arrived.
In any case, he has all trouble getting the coffee machine going and needs the telephone help of a friend to do so. Then he sits down at my table and starts talking.
You'd think someone had pushed a button and now he's talking. He talks and talks and can't stop. So while I more or less silently celebrate one piece of bread at a time with relish (they put a whole pound of butter on the table just for me), he tells me about his life.
And he knows about everything. A thousand stories. You would like to listen to him for hours. He knows everything about the inhabitants of the village, but also - and this is most interesting - about all the hotels and inns in the surrounding area.
Which reminds me of another hotel, the Crypto inn in Signau.
Remember. During last year's overnight stay at the Rothen Turm in Signau, the landlord tried to introduce me to the blessings of cryptocurrencies, but failed miserably.
I am not surprised to hear bad news about it. The hotel is apparently closed, it seems that after all Bitcoin and Co. did not turn out to be the salvation of the world. Well, I tried to warn the landlord, but he refused to listen to a few well-intentioned factual arguments.
Too bad for the beautiful old hotel.
No shortage of hills
In the meantime, I know them, these wooden bridges from ancient times. They are witnesses of a past that has long since vanished. That's why we love them. We recognize in them something that our ancestors have formed. Something for eternity, at least that's how it looks.
Well, in any case, the trail follows the Emme for a short distance, increasingly becoming a virgin river here. The spring is situated somewhere in the hinterland, not too far from here. Maybe I will find it, maybe not.
But then, surprise surprise, the climb begins, that's exactly what the travelguide mentioned. And another surprise: I'm once again alone in the field. Which is very convenient for me, because I have become accustomed to it and can no longer imagine anything else.
As the saying goes - the strong is strongest alone. Or something like that. Maybe it's bullshit, maybe not.
Anyway, the trail leads up, higher and higher, the breath goes intermittently, sometimes the path is completely overgrown. One could imagine that the last man has passed through here a hundred years ago. Reminds me once again of the Alpine Panorama Trail: .
Invitation to enjoy
Guess what? There are indeed some humorous Swiss (although I'm not really convinced of it). There are benches in the middle of the scenery with the best view, of course, and next to them there are metal information boards with engravings on them: Gniess (enjoy) or Pouse mache (take a break).
I don't let this categorical imperative escape me. So I obediently sit down on the benches, let my gaze wander thinking nothing. Or not much. But I feel relaxed right away, light as a feather. All that's missing is someone next to me on the bench with whom to share the pleasure.
Accompaniment with e-mountain bike
Sometimes I have the irritating feeling that the rest of the world doesn't exist at all. Just this tiny section, a few meadows, a few forests, a river in the valley, clouds in the sky. Beneath the clouds there is nothing, but with every step I take the world expands while it disappears behind me. It reminds me of a movie that I can't place, a task for the way ahead.
But at that very moment, reality sets in. A gasping breath behind me lets me stop. There's actually a not-so-young man struggling up the slope on an e-mountain bike. The sweat hits from his forehead, obviously the electric support has come to its limits.
He seems to be happy to be able to catch his breath for a moment, we start talking, continue our walk together. Of course, he on the bike, I on foot. A somewhat strange combination. Well, it's always amazing how quickly you get into profound conversations as soon as the usual platitudes are exchanged. And we finally even realize that we come from the same canton, so two compatriots.
Well, his trip was dedicated to shopping, and so he leaves me on the Pfyffer, the first somewhat higher hill, and drives towards his cottage.
But I stand still, amazed once more at the view.
The Schrattenfluh, this monstrous wall
After the Pfyffer, the trail continues uphill, by no means a shortage of breath-taking (in the literal sense of the word) climbs. One wonders how these hills were formed. They were once stately mountains, formed by the collision of two Tectonic plates but slowly and steadily being reduced by the elements to today's modest level.
I might almost feel sorry for them, considering the decline they've been through. But that's our world. Ups and downs are part of what happens. That's what happens in our own lives, too. Sometimes up, sometimes down. What comes up, must go down.
On the Wachthubel (once again one of those strange names), the highest elevation on this day, a mountain splendor is spreading out on all sides, which is quite awesome. To the south the Hohgant, but to the left the Schrattenfluh, a truly fearsome wall of rock and nothing else.
A few pictures from the hike of some years ago may show how forbidding and inhospitable this lump of a mountain looks.
From today's point of view, it looks quite decent, although the dark shadows, the vertical folds in the wall, the angular head at the end, show how repulsive this wall is. Not to mention the other side, as the above pictures show.
Not one of my fondest memories.
But then, not too far from the day's destination, the sky begins to cover with clouds. Not these delicate, floating white spots in the firmament, no, those twitching, flickering, gloomy formations of water vapor and energy causing threatening feelings in an instant.
While in the distance the first streaks of rain are obscuring the view, I hurry down the path, a gravel bed, hollowed out by earlier rain, very tedious. My knees, these poor joints that have never let me down so far (unlike last year's hike), report with angry signals, not this way, it seems to mean. I can not blame them.
But just as the first heavy drops hit the dusty ground, Schangnau approaches, the day's destination, the Gasthof Löwen, once again the only hotel in the village.
And so I am saved, once again escaping the thunderstorm at the last moment.
And the guesthouse turns out to be one of those establishments that I love so much. With an interior where the wooden walls might tell long stories, where the landlady welcomes the guest with her wonderful dialect as if he were a king, but it's only me. A little tired and exhausted, but happy to be here.
I already know that I will feel very comfortable in my little room with the red and white plaid bed sheets.
And while the rain is galloping over the village outside, I sit in the restaurant, drinking my daily, well-deserved beer and looking out of the window.
Matching song: Bob Dylan - Rainy Day Woman #12&35
And here the trail continues - to the Rossweid
